Chapter 10 #2
Sometimes it was at the little breakfast nook in the kitchen, sometimes it was in the dining room, with us facing each other across the table, so we could both take in the view.
I loved hearing her expound enthusiastically on the intricacies of the dishes she’d made, and she asked me questions about the mine, the refining plant, and the contracts I’d worked on that day.
It was…strange.
And wonderful.
Strange to open up like this, to have someone to talk to, to ask their opinions.
My brothers and Tarkhan would have done this for me if they’d known anything about my companies.
Sylvik and Garrak would as well, but I’d spent years holding myself apart from them, thinking we had to maintain a business relationship.
Well, Riven was still technically my employee, and look what we shared now!
She hadn’t moved in with me, and I didn’t want to risk asking her. After all, it had taken her a week before she’d even officially moved into her little apartment in the house, after that disastrous interview.
She might sleep with me, and I might fluff her favorite pillow each morning when I made the bed…but we still kept separate spaces. Sometimes I stood in my closet, choosing my suit for the day, and wondering what it would be like to see her chef’s blacks hanging up next to my things.
My little human’s style was so different from mine. I’d spent a decade keeping a tailor in business just so I could match the human image of a successful businessman. But Riven wore what was comfortable and didn’t care what others thought of her.
Part of me wondered, if she were to move entirely into my space, if I might learn that skill from her…and if I wanted to.
It was November 7th, a full week after my life had changed so completely, and I still felt as if I was living in a bit of limbo. Taking each day at a time, carefully feeling out interactions with Riven.
What we shared in the bedroom—and the bathtub, and the kitchen, and the living room rug—wasn’t awkward at all; it was the one time I felt as if we moved perfectly together.
And when we were able to just sit down and talk, like when we shared a meal, things felt right. I liked hearing her thoughts and questions.
But the other times? In the times when she cooked for me, and I sat in my office and thanked her for the coffee? That felt wrong.
Don’t get me wrong; I liked having her in my space. And I understood that it was in her nature to care for others. But dammit, I wanted to take care of her!
And I couldn’t do that when I was just her boss, could I?
She’d taken this job, she’d stood up to me, because she needed it. If she was going to work for me, then the least I could do was make it worth her while.
I typed out an email asking Sylvik to increase her salary, then realized she might think I was paying her for sleeping with me. Would she? I needed to discuss this with her before I made such a big change, and I didn’t know how to do that. So I deleted it.
I did order little gifts for her—a new espresso machine, a high-end pasta maker, and an emerald pendant that matched her eyes. Each time, she laughed and thanked me with a gentle kiss, and told me she didn’t need gifts.
She was right; she didn’t need them. But what was I supposed to do otherwise with this itchy, uncomfortable feeling that I wasn’t taking good enough care of her? I wanted her, dammit, and my Kteer was telling me that despite all our fucking, she still wasn’t mine.
Claim claim claim.
I flicked my tongue against my broken tusk, the sharp spike of pain drowning out my Kteer’s constant chanting. I had claimed Riven, hadn’t I? She’d learned to take my cock, I’d brought her pleasure in dozens of different ways. What was I missing?
“I still can’t believe you got this for me. I don’t mind rolling noodles.”
My attention jerked back to the project I’d volunteered to help her with. “Your pasta is delicious. But I do love angel hair in a creamy cheese sauce.”
“I know.” She laughed, handing me the manual. “I ordered more of that cheddar for you. And this is going to make homemade angel hair so much easier. Here, find some good recipes.”
Since she’d already struggled to get the machine out of the box herself, I scoffed. “Your recipe is perfect. All this Styrofoam, on the other hand…”
I began to break down the packaging and shove it into the kitchen trash as she fiddled with the base.
“There’s a place on the mainland that will recycle that crap,” she said without looking up. “I only get over there every few weeks, but if you’ll put it into a separate bag, I can stash it in the garage until then.”
Obediently, I hummed and pulled out another trash bag. I loved that my little human had the same respect and reverence for the planet that I did… My movements slowed. Did I, though? I remembered the deep scar of Vengeance Mine. Raping the land.
“Ooh, look at this! There’s a roller for lasagna sheets! I could use it for dumplings too, I’ll bet.”
I shook my head, then forced myself to smile at her enthusiasm. “Lasagna is one of Tarkhan’s favorites.”
“Sami’s too.” She grinned at me. “They’re well-matched.”
“Then lets invite them over to break it in. A lasagna dinner?”
Riven slowly placed the roller next to the base, her gaze dropping to my chest. “Um. Sure, if you want. I could definitely make some lasagna for you—”
“For us,” I gently corrected, the idea sounding more and more right. “I’m talking about inviting them for dinner with us. We could invite your mother as well.”
She was chewing on her lower lip when she finally looked away, and I noticed her hand shook slightly when she picked the roller back up. After her second try to slide it into position, I stepped closer and closed my hand around hers.
“Riven, what’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer me, but I could see she was breathing too quickly, her attention on the pasta machine as if it were fascinating. “Riven,” I prompted.
“I just…you want to meet my mother? Like, my family?”
Frowning, I used my other hand to tip her jaw upward so she met my eyes. “Of course I do. I owe Sami my appreciation for her advice.” I tried to smirk, to remind her of that evening I’d cuddled with her, but Riven still looked a little panicky. “Why wouldn’t I want to meet your family, dkaar?”
The endearment slipped out before I thought about it, but she didn’t notice.
In fact, Riven wrenched her hand out of mine and stepped back.
“Because you’re my boss, Abydos! Yeah, we’re fucking, and it’s amazing, but…
” Her gaze dropped back to the metal piece in her hands, and she twisted the roller almost absentmindedly.
“But that’s all we are. Fuck buddies. Right? ”
My stomach had twisted at her words, and I wanted to lash out, to snarl a negative. My Kteer howled in objection, insisting we were more than that.
But…Riven was holding her breath.
Holding her breath, waiting for my answer.
As if it really did matter to her.
As if I mattered to her.
Gods below, don’t let me fuck this up.
“Riven…is that what you want? To be just fuck buddies?”
Green eyes slid my way from under her lashes. “What do you want?”
She did care.
So I took a deep breath, and to keep from reaching for her, I flicked my tongue against my broken tusk and winced. “I want to meet your family, Riven. Please.”
She turned back to me, her body language and her tone both hesitant. “You’re sure? They’re humans.”
Of course they were. “They’re yours.”
Her chin rose and those fierce green eyes met mine. “They are. And they won’t hurt you.”
“I know that,” I told her with a slight frown. “They’re yours.”
“So why do you keep hurting yourself, Abydos?”
I reared back. “What?”
“I’ll plan the best damn dinner party you can imagine, mister.” Her finger jabbed my chest. “If you stop deliberately hurting yourself with that broken tusk. It helps you remember? Well, we’re trying to forget it!”
I wasn’t sure what exactly she was talking about. I wasn’t sure if she knew what she was talking about. But the fact that she’d noticed, the fact that she’d cared, pleased me inordinately.
My Kteer was purring as I gently enfolded Riven—and the pasta roller—in my arms. “Deal,” I murmured against her hair. “But I’m going to expect some amazing lasagna.”
She was laughing when our lips met.